


Evening Field

by vulcunt



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dry Humping, First Kiss, First time kinda, M/M, Nipple Play, No penetration, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, past Draco/Nott
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:53:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26674699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulcunt/pseuds/vulcunt
Summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco hates everything about himself, including his name. Goyle suggests Draco take his name instead.
Relationships: Gregory Goyle/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	Evening Field

After his trial, Draco does his best to spend as much time away from the Manor as possible. He goes to Pansy’s. He goes to Bulstrode’s. He even goes to Zabini’s every once in a while, for a terse afternoon tea.

He doesn’t go to Nott’s. The Notts were all arrested, and most would be serving time for a decade or more. Like Draco’s father. Nott asked to be left alone.

Draco spends most of his time at Goyle’s. Goyle didn’t ask questions. Goyle didn’t push Draco away. Goyle’s father had perhaps been the least intelligent collaborator, but he had been a gleeful collaborator. Thirty years in Azkaban for being a violent collaborator. Seemed right.

Goyle didn’t pester Draco with worrying looks or ask if he wanted another cup of tea every twenty minutes. Goyle just sat and stared out the same window Draco stared out of, out onto the empty Goyle grounds, hills of dull green grass and muddy fields. Rain. Goyle’s mother had let the field go unfurrowed this year. Draco was certain her garden was withering too.

Goyle didn’t invite Draco to speak, didn’t try and pry things out of him. Like others did. Pansy made Draco never want to speak ever again, out of spite. But after three hours of watching the same frog in the same mud croak, turn, and croak again endlessly, sometimes words just rose to the surface.

“I have to get rid of it.”

There was a moment of silence where Goyle had to register that a) someone had spoken, b) that that someone was Draco, and c) what Draco’s words had meant.

C was a little difficult this time.

“What.”

“My name, Goyle, I have to rid myself of it some how.”

“…oh.”

“It’s useless. Damaging, really. No one wants to enter into dealings with a Malfoy anymore.” Draco watched the idiotic frog turn ninety degrees counter-clockwise and plop back into the good filthy mud of Goyle Fields again. Stupid mindless creature. Draco envied it.

“You could…change it, I guess,” Goyle said slowly.

“Oh, you think?” Draco finally turned away from the window and the stupid frog to glance at Goyle, sitting across from Draco in the window’s alcove. “I can’t just change my name willy-nilly, Goyle. Changing my name to something utterly meaningless, like Draco Smith would look like a sign of…” Cowardice. “…weakness,” Draco trailed off. “Or some such rot.”

Goyle said nothing. Draco turned back to the view. The frog was gone.

Draco and Goyle sat in silence.

“I suppose I could try and reclaim the Black surname.” Draco found himself speaking again, after he didn’t know how long. The bleary sun was lower in the sky. The rain had stopped.

“I have some magical claim to it, at least, as the last recent male of the line. Might be a bit messy legally, since mother refuses—” Draco’s jaw clenched. “Mother has no interest in divorcing that…that fool.”

Narcissa had flatly dismissed the idea when Draco had coldly suggested that Lucius was somehow doing them more damage from prison than he had ever at home. How Narcissa could still willingly yolk herself to him, Draco couldn’t understand. Draco would rather face the scandal of divorce than stay married to a man who had utterly destroyed their family’s reputation. It probably would have even vastly improved Narcissa’s social standing, divorcing Lucius. And still she refused. She also refused to visit him in Azkaban, hypocritical woman.

Draco’s jaw ached from clenching it. He tried to relax his face. It wouldn’t do to further deepen the lines that had already developed over the past two years. It was bad enough his complexion was totally shot. His forehead was growing oilier by the day.

“What about…marriage?”

Draco glanced at Goyle. The candelabras were automatically lit once the sun had dipped past a certain point in the sky. Goyle’s wide face was half cast in the shadow of the window’s curtain.

“What about it?” Draco half-scoffed. “No one wants to marry me Goyle, keep up. The Malfoy name is in the mud. It’s all connected, you see?” Draco hissed that last bit slowly and not a little cruelly, as if he were talking to a particularly thick child.

Goyle said nothing.

Draco leaned back. Goyle…was one of the few friends who had not…abandoned him.

Draco turned to look out the window at the watery, orange sun. “No one wants to marry a Malfoy, so that avenue is closed to me,” he said more measuredly.

“And besides, the ideal partner would be female. Taking a woman’s family name is nearly as bad as choosing one at random, I might as well label myself a cuckold from the start.” The Prophet would have a field day, at the very least. Those vultures had reveled in the long, arduous Malfoy trial. Draco could just see it now: Disgraced Malfoy Heir Takes Bride’s Surname. It stunk of Rita Skeeter and her ilk.

Draco shook himself of the image. “Besides,” he continued. “If I gave such a liberty away from the start, what’s to stop any foolish in-laws from thinking they can walk all over me, so to speak. No,” Draco drawled, letting his gaze roam back over Goyle Fields. “No, marriage is not the answer.”

Goyle remained silent.

It wasn’t until the sun was dipping over the horizon in earnest that Draco got up from his spot to stretch. “I suppose Minty has got supper on, shall we go see?”

Goyle made no move to get up.

“Goyle, I have an appetite for once and I’m going to take advantage of—”

“What if it was me?”

Draco stopped, half-way turned towards the door of Goyle’s suite.

“What if it were you, what?”

“What if you…y’know. Married me. Instead of a woman.”

Draco stopped cold.

“No. No I don’t know. What do you mean, If I married you? How does that solve anything, Goyle?” Draco felt his voice rising. Was he shouting? Yes, he was shouting.

“And what do you mean instead of a woman? Like it’s either you or some woman. Like I couldn’t get another wizard to marry me. I have…I have plenty of choices beside…beside you, Goyle…” Was Draco hyperventilating? What the fuck. What—what the fuck. Breathing was hard. He found himself gripping the back of a chair. When had he moved? What the fuck. Damn Goyle. The man hadn’t had an idea in his head that Draco hadn’t put there for well on ten years now, and this was the drivel he came up with.

Draco needed to sit down. Chair, he was gripping a chair. Draco sat down in the chair. He just sat and breathed. Angrily.

Goyle hadn’t moved. Draco breathed some more.

Goyle, utter bastard, started speaking again before Draco had control of of his senses again. “My mother…wouldn’t mind. She doesn’t really mind things anymore,” Goyle paused. “Except to know when a new bottle is in from market. I don’t think she’d ask you for anything.”

Draco’s face was in his hands. He was rubbing it. Getting his disgusting oils into every pore. He stopped rubbing his face and whipped around to glare at Goyle.

“Oh! What a relief! Your lush of a mother won’t demand the keys to the Malfoy coffers, how gracious!”

Goyle was looking at Malfoy with absolutely no expression on his face, not even with the slightly befuddled look he sported most of the day. The shadows on his face were cast even deeper now—the sun was nearly fully set. Goyle said nothing and the silence began to stretch. Outside, the buzz of insects and the croaks of frogs hadn’t yet started in earnest. So it was quiet in Goyle’s quarters.

A crazed Draco held Goyle’s gaze. What? Did the fool expect him to throw himself at Goyle’s feet in gratitude for considering, deigning to entertain the idea of marrying Draco? The Goyle name wasn’t much better off than the Malfoy name. Goyle’s father had managed to receive an even longer sentence than Draco’s father. And what did the Goyle name have to it, fiscally? Politically? Next to nothing in terms of business contacts, and even fewer political ties. Goyle’s own lack of brains wasn’t a random fluke, his father had been a fool with no economic foresight or political inclinations.

So there wasn’t much lost.

Draco blinked, breaking eye contact. The Goyles had never really been in the public eye. Sure, the Goyles were technically affiliated with the Dark Lord. As an afterthought. The Goyles had never been considered major players in the wars, not like the Lestranges, Blacks or Malfoys. Goyle had even told Draco that hardly anyone had showed up to his father’s sentencing. Draco hadn’t really thought much of it at the time. Of course no one had shown up to Goyle Sr.’s sentencing. Aside from being thuggish and occasionally violent, the man was blander than a stale biscuit.

Not like Draco’s father, whose solicitors had weaseled him down from a life sentence in Azkaban to a scarce twenty years, with the possibility of parole at fifteen.

Who deserved two lifetimes in jail, Draco believed. Truly.

He didn’t want his name to be that man’s, no, that fool’s, name anymore. That careless, selfish fool’s name. Idiot. Bastard.  
Draco tasted copper. He was worrying at his lip.

Suddenly Goyle was there. Right there. Kneeling?? Kneeling beside Draco.

“I could. Take care of you,” Goyle was just looking up at Draco, his face…expressionless. There was a too intelligent look in his eyes though, as they moved over Draco’s face. “Like I always do. Don’t I take care of you, Draco?”

Draco’s jaw felt tight. His hands were clenched in his lap. He had fooled around with Goyle, as a child. He’d fooled around with Crabbe, too. They were…convenient, messy ordeals. They had all grown out of them, Draco had thought. He had assumed Goyle was straight. Draco had known he, himself, wasn’t. That was why he had…been with Nott for so long. For all of year four and part of fifth year. But the Notts were…somehow even worse off than the Malfoys after the war. Nott’s uncle, Janus Nott had blown up fifty-three muggles in something called an underground. No one in the wizarding world was going to forget that anytime soon.

Draco had no idea Goyle was…liked men. Did he even like men? He had a hand on Draco’s thigh right at this moment and didn’t seem to be disgusted at the fact. As of yet.

Draco straightened up in his seat and forced himself to look Goyle directly in the eye. “Do you?” Draco asked, in answer to Goyle’s question. A slight, familiar furrow appeared between Goyle’s brows for a moment before something like realization alighted behind his dull brown eyes.

There was a moment of near suspense, before Goyle’s hand on Draco’s thigh moved up to rest tentatively on his hip and Goyle’s other hand moved slowly across the space between them to rest on Draco’s other knee.

Draco swallowed once, but forced himself to not look away from Goyle’s face. He could feel the rise and fall of Goyle’s chest against his thigh. Goyle was resting his weight back on his ankles but he was still… very close.

“And how am I to know whether I want to be married to you, Goyle?” Draco found himself blurting. Blurting with grace of course. He was a graceful person.

“You’re not terrible to…to look at,” he blurted next. Damn. But Draco did find himself looking more closely at Goyle’s not terrible face once he said it. Goyle had had a big broad face, always, but he had grown into it, his eyes were no longer piggish and beady, but had set deeper over time. And the softness of youth had begun to fall away from his cheeks and chin. He was always going to be a larger man. But he was larger with muscle now, than with soft give. Goyle ate just about as well as Draco these days, which was really not much at all.

“But how am I to know if you’ll…please me?” Draco nearly croaked out that last part. He got a hold of himself. “You’re not a very pleasant person, I have to say. Bit of a…dullard.” Draco felt his voice trailing pointlessly as he spoke. Goyle was looking at Draco’s mouth, not even listening anymore. Idiot…pervert. Draco felt himself swallow.

He made a decision. Draco unclenched his hands in his lap and stood up. Goyle swayed back further onto his ankles, one hand still on Draco’s knee. “I guess—I guess I’ll have to try you out.” After a moment, Draco…reached out. His nervous, fluttering hands settled on Goyle’s shoulders. Goyle was blinking up at Draco, before Draco’s words finally penetrated.

“Like a new broom.” Draco slid his hand down Goyle’s shoulder more confidently than he felt, to Goyle’s elbow, and then to his hand to pull him up… towards Goyle’s bed suite. “How am I supposed to know if I want to…make a purchase? If I haven’t tried—the product.” Draco faltered at his own words. “Recently, that is,” he managed.

Draco needn’t have bothered speaking at all. Goyle had gotten with the program. The light of realization had shifted into something with an edge, a hunger, as Draco led him into his own bedroom. Draco was impressed neither of them tripped over the other’s feet. Goyle was known to trip over his own feet often enough.

Draco paused at the foot of the bed, mind whirling like a dervish. What was he doing? Was he…? He was going to sleep with Goyle. He was…going to sleep with Goyle. Presently. Like, right now.

Draco found himself sitting on the edge of the bed. Goyle was close, nearly between Draco’s knees. But he didn’t move from his spot. Draco found himself reaching out to unfasten Goyle’s trousers. Goyle’s belt clinked as it fell away from his front, and the sound of the zipper was loud in Draco’s ears but not as loud as the rush of blood in Draco’s skull. His heart felt like it was in his throat. He was getting hard—no—he was hard. Draco’s own cock was straining against the fastenings of his prim slacks.

Draco’s fingers brushed against satin soft skin, alarmingly warm. Goyle’s cock was hot, and very heavy, as Draco freed it from the front of Goyle’s pants.

Oh, He’s a man. Draco’s mind nearly short circuited with the knowledge.

Not with the knowledge that Goyle was a man, as in male, he knew that. But Goyle was… grown. He was a grown man. And Draco was about to have sex. With that very grown man.

Draco stroked Goyle once, twice, mesmerized. Draco found himself swaying closer to the edge of the bed, feeling the heat of Goyle’s body near his face. He leaned back a bit to glance up at Goyle.

Draco swallowed hard at the sight. Goyle’s eyes were lidded heavily, color high on his cheeks. His chest rose and fell in heaves, but Goyle himself was mostly quiet. Suddenly Draco needed to be touched. Draco let his grip slide from Goyle’s cock to grab at the man’s hands. Draco quickly leaned back on the bed, pulling Goyle’s hands towards his own crotch in haste, spreading his knees to allow room. “Here, undo me,” Draco found himself murmuring.

Goyle loved a direct, actionable order. Draco’s hands started rubbing at Goyle’s shoulders as the large man tugged Draco’s belt mostly off, and his trousers open. Then Goyle started going off script, rubbing at the front of Draco’s pants, seemingly transfixed at the hardness under his meaty palm. Draco started to moan a little, unintentionally at first, then when Goyle looked up from Draco’s crotch to Draco’s mouth, Draco made more intentionally encouraging sounds. Once Goyle got into his pants though, Draco couldn’t help some of the whimpers and whines that started slipping out between moans.

Draco was really gripping at Goyle’s shoulders now and was very disappointed when Goyle pulled away. Until he realized Goyle had straightened to bring their bottom halves more closely together. He felt the heat of Goyle’s cock through the layers of his slacks and pants, feeling Goyle’s whole impressive length as he rocked into Draco’s perineum and balls still trapped in the material. Goyle had started pumping Draco’s cock as he humped him and Draco’s face felt like it was going numb from all the blood rushing between his short-circuiting brain, his poor heart, and his throbbing prick.

He had a feeling he looked rather like a strung out whore, on his back, mouth open and panting as he clutched at the sheets next to his head. After a particularly athletic hip movement that nearly pushed Draco up the entire length of the bed, Draco began to scrabble at the fastenings of his shirt. As Draco’s chest was revealed, Goyle’s movements became more frantic. He seemed incapable of not humping Draco, but he stopped tugging at Draco’s cock and began pawing and pulling at Draco’s arse and slacks. Pulling Draco by his hips and the loose material of his trousers towards his own crotch. Mindlessly rutting.

Draco didn’t mind it, he loved it. It had been so long since he’d been touched and never by someone so manly, so large and broad and thick. Goyle smelled like sour musk and sweat, and it was unbelievably hot. And now the room was beginning to smell of sex, of them. Draco felt his mouth watering as he managed to undo enough shirt buttons to shrug it off his shoulders. It was still trapped around his elbows, but he really only need access to his chest.

When Draco finally got a hand on his bare chest he immediately started rubbing and scratching at his nipples. It took a moment, but once Goyle noticed what Draco was doing, he seemed to think he had full rights to Draco’s chest too. Goyle began rubbing one large hand roughly over a soft, flat breast, then the other. Draco felt like his eyes were crossing in his skull at Goyle’s touch. Soon both of Goyle’s hands were massaging Draco’s chest and Draco put his hands over Goyle’s to encourage more pressure. Draco looked up at Goyle looming over him and arched his chest as he pushed Goyle’s hands firmly over his aching, electrifying nipples. Goyle looked like he was losing his mind.

“Keep playing with my tits,” Draco gasped. He could feel Goyle's mind come to a stand still when he registered Draco's words. Before going into over drive. He released one of Goyle’s hands and gripped Goyle’s cock again. Surprised out of his reverie, Goyle nearly knocked them both off the bed with the resulting jolt, but Draco’s order to play with his tits had obviously rewired Goyle’s small brain for the better. Draco guided him with his other hand to rub firmly and Goyle started thumbing at Draco’s nipples, awed and enraptured as his gaze moved down to where Draco was jacking him off between his legs and up to where he was fondling Draco’s chest, and sometimes, when Draco made a particular sound, up to Draco’s hot, wet mouth.

When Draco was certain Goyle wouldn’t be distracted from playing with his tits, he moved his other hand down, widening his legs so he could start jacking himself off too. It took some coordination to beat both himself and Goyle off while Goyle manhandled his chest, but really, it was the most Draco could handle at the moment.

Then Goyle got the smart idea of putting his mouth on one of Draco’s nipples and he nearly lost it right then. Draco started beating himself off so hard he felt like his cock was going to pop off. He grabbed Goyle’s head as it moved to his other tit and nearly pulled the man’s hair out by its roots even as he pushed Goyle’s face closer to his chest. Draco had no idea what he was babbling about but he was sure he was begging Goyle to fuck his arse, suck his tits, come inside him. He was probably asking Goyle to marry him and please please please fuck him every day, just like this. Suddenly, Draco felt a brush of teeth against his nipple and he was suddenly immediately coming, his whole vision going white. He was still making some ungodly noise when he could perceive anything other than his orgasm again. It wasn’t until he was nearly done, his cock still shooting weakly, that his voice dissolved into tortured moans and whines.

Draco felt limp, like a rag doll with no stuffing. He felt an arm under his waist though. And something was still moving over him, between his legs. Was he in Goyle’s lap?

Draco realized Goyle was strong-arming Draco to his body. Goyle had somehow forced his hand in the vice between their bodies and was…furiously beating himself off. Draco felt lightheaded as he grabbed at broad shoulders to steady himself in Goyle’s lap. The sight of thick, viscous liquid over Goyle’s hand caught Draco’s eye and he realized Goyle was using Draco’s spend to jack himself off. Draco felt a moan escape. He dropped an arm from Goyle still clothed shoulders to fondle his own chest, felt where his own orgasm had nearly reached his collarbone and started to worry the cooling liquid into the soft skin of his breast. Right in front of Goyle’s face. Goyle’s mouth was on Draco’s nipple in a flash and after one bruising suck, Draco could feel the warm splatter of fresh come on his belly and softening cock.

Draco moaned as he arched into Goyle’s iron grip.

“Hmm,” he hummed lightly. “That’s nice.”

And then Goyle’s tongue was in Draco’s mouth. He could taste his own release and Goyle’s mouth and his wet tongue and Draco moaned deeper as they necked feverishly. Goyle’s tongue was really getting Draco going again. Goyle too, from the way he was grabbing at Draco.

Draco pulled away breathlessly, “Another go? Just to be sure?” Goyle barely let Draco breathe before he was on him again, rocking Draco down onto the bed.

They had to be sure, after all. Couldn’t buy a product without testing it out thoroughly.

**Author's Note:**

> if you want dirty rare pairs done right you got to do it urself


End file.
